Accordion Soul
by WhiteWings9
Summary: Ivan is a bard of a modest bear breed, who spends his life eking out a meagre living by entertaining travellers along the Silk Road. One day, his life changes upon meeting a wealthy heavy seed benefactor. Sex Pistols!AU.
1. Prologue

**Accordion Soul**  
**Prologue**

It was a bitterly cold evening in the small unnamed town on the mountain pass that bridged the east to the west. A northern wind blew, bringing with it the first flakes of snow, as the town's inhabitants stirred awake to prepare for another night of revelry. A new camp had arrived earlier in the day, and with it travellers who were looking to empty their coin bags. Men slopped mead in the alehouses, laughing raucously over fiddle music, as the streets lined with vendors and entertainers; everyone from acrobats to whores looking to relieve them further of their gold.

Ivan was sitting at the mouth of his tent in a camp, nursing a bowl of weak watery soup, when two hard and unsmiling men came up to him to enquire after his lute-playing. He immediately thought that they were dressed much too finely to be the sellswords they claimed to be. He sniffed cautiously at them; a pair of stallions, he confirmed, both middle seed and of excellent breeds. It struck him as more than a little suspicious for two such fine well-bred horses to go about pretending to be sellswords, but business was business. He was not one to turn down an offer of gold. When they gave him two solid tael pieces with the promise of more, he agreed readily to their terms.

"Our master wants you to entertain his guests tonight," one of them said as they led him and his lute to his mysterious benefactor. "He saw that you played well the other day. Play just as well for him and you will be generously rewarded."

Arriving at the inn where his benefactor was staying overnight, it appeared as if someone had taken all the town's most handsome womenfolk and crammed them into the squat little building until it was ready to burst. Food and wine flowed freely amid chatter and soft tinkling laughter. As he was brought inside, everywhere he turned to look, there were women of every conceivable type and breed collectively releasing a cloud of overpowering pheromones that made him reel.

Some of the women, he saw, were hired entertainers just like him; dancers, courtesans, and camp followers, many of them dolled-up as they flocked eagerly to the alpha who was utterly unapologetic of the effect he was having over them.

As Ivan neared the alpha male, assumedly his benefactor, he was suddenly assaulted by a clear watery scent that cut through the fog of heady pheromones, stopping him dead in his tracks.

It was the scent of a heavy seed, of a breed Ivan could not quite pin down, but he was powerful, and he was aggressively territorial. Ivan glanced nervously up the great dining table to where he sat at its head. The women, sensing the change in mood, turned curious heads towards him as well, as his eyes met with the handsome wine-flushed man flanked by two particularly ornate women.

The man was… beautiful. He was lean, with dark pupils set in burnished gold and hair that flowed like a river of ink swept to fall over one shoulder. He wore a simple pale yellow robe which kissed to his skin, exposing his long lipstick-stained throat and a strip of chest down his front. His features were delicate for a heavy seed, almost feminine. Although he had a powerful aura that set him apart from the women surrounding him, Ivan thought that they could hardly compare to him in loveliness.

"I thought I sensed something a little different," the man said, his voice carrying softly over the hush that had fallen in the room like a wind gently caressing the surface of a lake.

Ivan trembled at the sound of it.

Then, just as abruptly, the man tilted his head to one side and returned to the conversation he was having with one of the women. Ivan sensed that he had just been dismissed. The atmosphere in the room returned to its amicable state, and he released a breath he did not realise he had been holding.

A quick glance at the stallions' faces told him that this was not unexpected. One of them nodded towards an empty chair set near the table, indicating for him to take his place and set to work. Without another word, they turned and exited the building, leaving him to his own devices.

* * *

**A/n:** I've always wanted to write both ChuRo and a Sex Pistols!AU for Hetalia, so the idea for this mess was born. This would be Kotobuki Tarako's yaoi manga series Sex Pistols, not the band.


	2. First Night

**Accordion Soul  
First Night**

Ivan finished the last verse of his song and glanced anxiously up from his lute to where Yao was sitting at the head of the bed. His benefactor had hardly moved or spoken all evening, so he was not sure if his music was pleasing him. But he had yet to be dismissed.

"Would you like another song, my lord?" he ventured timidly, after a pause.

Yao slowly raised his eyes from his wine cup to look coldly at him. "I tire of your songs," he said, his words cutting into Ivan like a blast of wintry wind. The latter lowered his gaze, abashed, mumbling a quiet apology.

But Yao did not seem to have heard him. His gaze was distracted, and he did not seem to have noticed that he had affected the bear cub at all with his words. He looked down at the wine in his hand, and as if just realising that he held a full cup still, brought it to his lips and emptied it in one smooth swallow.

Ivan had never seen his master in such a state. His hair was loose and unkempt, and his usually bright yellow eyes were clouded now with alcohol. It was a far cry from the proud and wealthy socialite who was the envy of every man, and who loved nothing more than to gather and entertain the finest women around. As he watched, Yao poured himself another cup of rice wine and tossed it back with a soft rustle of his sleeve.

It suddenly dawned on him that he was intimately privileged to see Yao as he was now, and in his private chamber no less. He kept his head bowed, but not for the first time his eyes slid sordidly over the length of his lord's person.

Yao was plainly dressed in a white robe. The silk fabric clung softly to his pale yellow skin, and as he wore it loosely, his collarbones were visible where the seams did not quite meet at his throat. A small trickle of wine fell from the corner of his lips to glide down his chin and the length of his long pale throat. Ivan stared hungrily as a familiar heat spread and pooled low in his belly.

The ceramic cup hitting the tray with a wooden _clack_ snapped him out of his private reverie.

"_Ah, but they are not so private to me,_ _cub_."

It was said in a hiss that was barely audible. Ivan caught them. He looked up, his face a picture of shame and mortified horror. Words of denial leapt to his tongue – "N-no, I – f-forgive me, my lord…" – but they slid back down his throat without him finishing.

He wished he would melt into the ground.

There was a sound of silk smoothing over silk, and all of a sudden Yao was right in front of him. He jerked back, more startled than frightened, but fear was quickly rising in him too. Yao's eyes were bright gold as they burned into him, his face a porcelain mask of curious indifference. To escape his gaze, he closed his eyes and trembled as Yao brought a heated hand to the side of his face.

"Are you afraid of me?" Yao whispered. He was leaning in to the side of Ivan's half-turned face, his breath puffing into the shell of his ear, stirring a few strands of his white blond hair.

Ivan shivered at the sensation. Not trusting himself to say anything, he kept his eyes squeezed shut and remained silent, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

This appeared to suit Yao, who brought his face close to the bear cub and all but kissed along the line of his fear-clenched jaw. His lips ghosted over Ivan's milk-white skin, and occasionally the tip of his nose buried into a crook to inhale his scent. A heady mixture of wild youthful hormones lay under the musk of his day's labour, laced with a little fear that was _intoxicating_.

Ivan was trembling beneath him. It was no wonder. His own heavy seed scent was all but overpowering the cub into submission. He had had this effect on everyone ever since he was old enough to breed.

"Ivan Braginski," he whispered huskily, his breath fanning across Ivan's red-flushed skin. The cub shuddered at the sound of his name. "You come to me with your song and music in exchange for my gold. To want anything beyond our arrangement is to presume too much."

The poor bard was quaking so hard he was shaking the bed beneath them.

Drunk on power and on rice wine, Yao drew back his lips and snarled, "_Know your place._"

* * *

**A/n:** Does anyone even remember I had a Sex Pistols!AU (the BL manga not the band) for ChuRo?


End file.
